


Arcane Rituals

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean teaches Cas to shave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arcane Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "mirrors and doubles" square of my [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Inspired by a brief exchange with [](http://misachan.livejournal.com/profile)[misachan](http://misachan.livejournal.com/). Beta'd by [](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/profile)[ellethill](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/).

 

“The Bible says you should let it grow.”

Dean jumps and almost drops his electric razor in the fucking sink. “Son of a—”

Cas’s reflection stares at him, unrepentant.

“Yeah, but doesn’t it also say I should stone sinners to death, be fruitful and multiply, and never eat shellfish?”

Castiel frowns. “It does indeed provide a great quantity of prescriptions, many of which I feel sure my Father cares nothing about. I was merely making conversation. I am unfamiliar with the process of ‘shaving’ and hoped you would talk about it.”

“What’s to talk about?”

“Don’t you think you’d look handsome with a beard?”

Dean snorts. “No, I _know_ I wouldn’t look handsome with a beard.”

And that’s that, as far as he’s concerned. And yet, the conversation sticks with him, even months later. So that one day, quite out of the blue, when things have changed between them and these indulgences are allowed, he runs his palm over Cas’s stubbled cheek, listens to the sound the bristles make, and asks if Cas wouldn’t like to try going clean-shaven some time.

So, here they are. Bathroom. Boxers. Alone time while Sam does Sam-type things elsewhere (and he’d better be taking fucking good care of Dean’s baby while he’s at it).

“This isn’t how you do it,” Castiel says, half a question, patiently watching in the mirror as Dean, behind him, spreads the shaving foam over his perpetually-stubbled cheeks. “You use a small machine. It makes a distinctive buzzing sound.”

“Different folks, different strokes,” Dean murmurs, aware his mouth is awful close to falling-angel boy’s ear. “I don’t think anybody ever taught anybody to shave with an electric. Ya gotta learn the ritual of the thing, you know?” His gaze flicks up, catches Cas’s big blue eyes reflected in the mirror, so trusting despite his almost palpable scepticism. Yeah, so the guy still has enough Heavenly juice left to heal minor injuries, but he’s still _trusting_ Dean to do this. And to see him without the familiar armour of his trench-coat. He looks strangely small and helpless in a little t-shirt Dean hardly wears anymore because it’s kinda tight across the shoulders and a pair of Sam’s sweatpants that are kinda hilariously long on him.

Dean finishes the construction of the fluffy white foam beard, then cleans his hands and reaches for the razor, gives the blades an automatic glance to check they’re okay, holds it out for Cas. He takes it, looks rather warily at it.

“Now, you want to graze this just lightly over your face—” he mimes how he’d make the first stroke “—so it cuts the hairs but doesn’t cut the skin. If it hurts, you’re doing it wrong. Pretend like you’re just trying to scrape off the foam. Go slow, okay?”

Castiel looks a little bemused, but he goes for it, cuts a neat swath through his mask of shaving foam to reveal smooth skin. For some reason, that makes Dean’s dick twitch in his boxers.

“Now you want to clean all that foam off the razor, just swirl it around in the water. Yeah.” He can’t resist leaning in to press a quick kiss to one of the bumps of bone at the back of Cas’s neck. He smells like Old Spice and old memories. Dad used to shave like this, the old-fashioned way, when he had the time.

Cas continues to shave his cheeks without further prodding, visibly gaining confidence as he goes. Dean stops him for further instructions when it’s time to manage the more complex topography of the chin. Dean finds that reflected look of utmost concentration a total turn-on, and he steps in closer behind Cas, slips his arms around that narrow waist.

“You are aroused,” Cas says, pausing in the act of cleaning the razor to meet Dean’s gaze in the mirror. “Is it the deadly weapon you have me threatening my face with, or simply my proximity?”

Dean finds it oddly hard to swallow, clears his throat. “Something about the ritual, I think.” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s got a lot of cultural shit that goes with it. About manhood and being a grownup and pampering yourself and being tough ‘cause you might get cut… But stubble’s sexy on its own, sometimes, so there’s that too…” He shrugs. “Plus it’s you. I got hard watching you pick your teeth once, so clearly I’m pretty much fucked in the head where you’re concerned.”

The muscles either side of Cas’s mouth crinkle in the faint suggestion of a smile. “I love you too, Dean.”

Fuck, Dean _hates_ it when he does that. Trust Cas to make him blush. Still, at least they aren’t in public this time. He presses one warm cheek to the back of Cas’s head and breathes in the familiar, calming scent of him, shaving foam and strawberry shampoo and human male and something that is subtly otherworldly and very, very Cas.

“May I wash my face now?”

Dean shrugs. Cas has undoubtedly missed spots, but it’s a first effort. Doesn’t have to be perfect. “Yeah, go on.”

Cas washes, and Dean pats dry, then runs his fingertips over the smooth skin. He’s never seen Cas without the designer stubble before, and he’s quite a sight. So he continues to stare at Cas in the mirror even as he slips the hand not fondling face down the front of Cas’s boxers to palm his cock. Which takes an immediate interest. As does Dean’s own when he rubs it against that lovely little butt.

“Dean,” Cas says, question and affirmation rolled into one.

“Look how fucking pretty you are.”

Cas looks, scans himself in the mirror for a long moment as if trying to see what Dean sees. “This is only a vessel, Dean.” He moves as sinuously as a cat, rocking forward into Dean’s hand, then back against his dick.

“Yeah, but it’s _your_ vessel. And I like it.” He pushes Cas’s boxers down in front so he has more room to work. There’s not much precome yet to spread around, but fortunately Dean knows from experience that Cas enjoys a bit of friction.

“It doesn’t closely resemble the kind of human being to whom you’re usually attracted.”

Dean swallows back a groan. Meets Cas’s gaze in the mirror. “Look, do you want to stand around questioning my sexuality again, or do you want to get off?”

Cas tilts his head to one side, and seems to be considering saying something about his impressive angelic multitasking ability. But then he covers Dean’s hand on his cock instead, reaches back with his free hand to grab at Dean’s buttock and pull him in tight.

Dean very much likes that answer. And he likes rubbing against Cas, and he _really_ fucking likes watching in the mirror as he pleasures—defiles?—an angel, rubbing off against angel butt in angel boxers. Well, devil boxers actually, Sammy’s little joke. Anyway, it’s smooth slinky fabric and hot hard flesh and it’s good, so good, and so wrong to do it standing here in the bathroom where people stand every day to brush teeth, wash hands, apply makeup…

Cas has learned a lot about what his vessel likes, learned to understand the various pleasure signals it gives, so that now it’s Cas’s hand guiding Dean’s on his dick, not Dean doing what he _thinks_ Cas might like and watching for any faint sign that he does. Dean reaches for Cas’s balls with his free hand, which is awkward but do-able, and Cas gives a happy, shivery little whimper and leans a little of his weight on him. And all the while Dean grinds, grinds against the cleft of that delectable ass, watches in the mirror for every little emotional tell or tic on Cas’s face, for the moment he can't keep his big blue eyes focused anymore. For that precious moment when his lashes flutter and then his lids drift down, the sensations he’s feeling getting too much to process.

“Dean,” he says, voice raspy and weak. “Dean.”

“I know,” Dean says. “And you can, you can come. Watch in the mirror while you come all over our hands.”

And he does. His reflected blue eyes lock on Dean’s green ones, and then his pink mouth opens in a soundless cry as his cock gives it up in a barrage of quick spurts.

Dean needs more than that, but not _that_ much more. He can see in the mirror that he’s got an audience as he greedily sucks Cas’s come from his fingers. Then he gets to business, curling his hands around Cas’s hips and rubbing his dick more deliberately over his cleft through their two layers of underwear.

Cas watches.

Dean rubs.

Cas smiles his small, timid smile.

Dean sees his reflection’s face screw up, eyes going wide as he comes.

_Fuck_. That was… Yeah.

***

“And I’m supposed to shave every day?” Cas asks afterwards, while Dean is cleaning them up with a damp washcloth. He puts that odd emphasis on “shave” like he’s not sure of the word yet.

“That’s the idea. Every morning. And sometimes extra, like right before a date or an important meeting or something.”

Cas’s reflection purses its lips. “That seems tiresome. Though I liked how the ritual ended.”

Anyone else might wink, but Cas just stares at Dean through the mirror. And _man_ , that’s hot.

 

***END***


End file.
